Her name was Dravenya Voss, the raven queen of the Eastern Courts, feared for her beauty as much as for the promises she never broke. Legends told that she had once been mortal, a scholar of forbidden histories, until she stumbled upon the Black Library—a place where ink was drawn from the blood of kings. The moment she swore her first oath there, the ink burned into her skin as intricate patterns, binding her to the will of ancient powers.

In the red glow of the moon, she stood like a shadow carved from midnight, her eyes sharp enough to cut through lies. Bats circled above, heralds of her approach, and the air thickened with the weight of her presence. Some sought her for vengeance, others for salvation, but all left owing her something far greater than they had bargained for. For Dravenya’s oaths were not mere words—they were sentences written in fate itself.

🖼️ Framing Information
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